He’s drowning
Way out there
Unconformed
And cast out
Clinging to life
on jilted preservers
and buoyant vagaries
He watched them
With wings silenced
Buzzing around moons
and golden parallelograms
Little gods saving their Queen
with measured provisions
in dance steps and ritual
Sometimes at night
Her majesty would sing to them
“America the Beautiful”
in frenzied consonants
cackled in pixels that
light up and glow
with a quarter of July
He fell in with a murder
of high wind crows
that liked plotting revenge
while flying in place
over steeple bent churches,
Starbucks obelisks,
crooked beaks, and carrion
Her palace collapsed
Like a mini civilization
Amidst flapping wings
undulating in perfect pitch
along a downward,
spiralling trajectory
and a fusillade of rifle shots
Boom! Sunk her palace
with its burning rat bones,
rigored syntax,
dearth of touch,
blanched pickets,
dead wasps, pomp,
and honeycombed pageantry
Legend had it skewed;
they said the killer
was unteachable, deranged
A poor shoo fly
with clipped wings
Suspended in uncertainty
and honey covered principle
But I know for a fact
He was just a tired drone
Cut off, marginalized
Fed up and used out
Armed to the thorax
with a shit ton of apathy
and a semi-automatic
The Tigress Awakens 